Mary
M. Chan (email: mary.chan@ualberta.ca)is
a Ph.D. candidate at the University of Alberta. She has
previously published in Persuasions and Persuasions
On-Line, and has presented at two JASNA AGMs. She is
currently working on her dissertation, which analyzes domestic
spaces in the eighteenth-century novel.

Jane Austen’s
novels are limited in scope, a fact she acknowledges in her famous, facetious
comment comparing her writing to the painting of a miniature portrait, “the
little bit (two Inches wide) of Ivory on which I work with so fine a Brush, as
produces little effect after much labour” (16 December 1816). Though
Austen was being playfully ironic in her letter to her nephew, her novels are
indeed limited in one key aspect: they predominantly take place indoors,
in drawing rooms and in ballrooms. Spaces, particularly interior spaces,
embody the societal scrutiny under which Austen’s characters operate and
indicate the limitations of her heroines’ worlds. Yet the 2005 film
adaptation of Pride and Prejudice (dir. Joe Wright) alters the novel’s
use of space, relocating key scenes outdoors and transposing other scenes
indoors. This article addresses the effect of moving from interior to
exterior space (or vice versa),
as well as the general organization and representation of cinematic space in
the film. In Pride & Prejudice, space is used to characterize
individuals and households, and, ultimately, social spaces (and spaces of
sociability) are left behind for the space of romance.

Space is more
than art direction or set design, or even the country houses and landscaped
gardens used as backgrounds for filming. Rather, space itself produces
meaning. Henri Lefebvre notes that space is active, that it can act upon
unaware subjects. In his book The Production of Space, Lefebvre
argues that space is ideological, and that ideology in fact emerges from space:
“What is an ideology without a space to which it refers, a space which it
describes, whose vocabulary and links it makes use of, and whose code it
embodies?” (44). Cinematic space is particularly telling because its
onscreen presence can rival that of actors: “space can be seen to
contribute to the dynamics of the narrative and can be shown to play an important
part in the development of a variety of considerations, both ideological and
artistic” (Konstantarakos 1). Depending on how a shot is composed, a
space can even dominate the frame. And though both films and novels are
heavily mediated forms, their visibility on screen grants filmic spaces an
immediacy that descriptive spaces in novels lack.

Critical
attention to space in film adaptations of Jane Austen’s novels has largely
focused upon exterior spaces, particularly the use of landscape. Kathi L.
Groenendyk, for example, analyzes the importance of the picturesque in her
consideration of landscape in Persuasion (1995) and Sue Parrill examines
how landscape can be employed thematically and for characterization in Pride
and Prejudice (1995) and Sense and Sensibility (1995). H.
Elisabeth Ellington argues that the lovingly shot, bucolic landscapes of the
1995 mini-series of Pride and Prejudice are commodities consumed by both
Elizabeth Bennet, gazing out the window at Pemberley’s grounds, and by the viewer.

Certainly,
spaces in films convey information about character. Ellington notes that
“[o]ur understanding of the nuances of the story depends on our ability to read
Darcy’s and Elizabeth’s different reactions to landscape” (94). In the
film Pride & Prejudice, landscape is used primarily to characterize
Lizzie Bennet as a free spirit who cannot be constrained by the rigid
expectations of her society.1 After she refuses Mr. Collins’s
proposal, Lizzie runs out of the house to a nearby lake, as if escaping the
pressures to marry well for the sake of the family. The character’s
association with the outdoors is best exemplified (and amplified) by the long,
sweeping helicopter shot of Lizzie Bennet (played by Keira Knightley) standing
on the precipice of a large cliff, the wind blowing her hair and the sun
shining down, a shot so iconic that it is used as the background for the DVD’s
main menu. The helicopter shot of the precipice is one of several shots
of Lizzie in a beautiful landscape, including her trek to Netherfield to visit
Jane, which is an extreme long shot of a giant tree on the left and Knightley’s
silhouette walking across the field towards the right side of the frame.
As a result of the long shots, Knightley’s slight figure is overwhelmed by the
visual splendor of the shot and the swelling music of the score. Lizzie
Bennet is in essence reduced to being a part of the landscape rather than just
being in the landscape; the film
paradoxically celebrates Lizzie’s independence while minimizing the percentage
of the screen that she appears in.

For all the
critical attention paid to landscape, interiors are equally significant to
eighteenth-century conceptions of characterization. Austen’s famous
description of Pemberley makes readers reconsider Darcy because we assume that
a man with such a well-appointed house cannot be entirely disagreeable:
Elizabeth “had never seen a place for which nature had done more, or where
natural beauty had been so little counteracted by an awkward taste” (245).
Two eighteenth-century aesthetic concepts underlie Elizabeth’s praise of the interplay
between nature and artifice. First is Pemberley’s adherence to the
picturesque, a late-eighteenth-century aesthetic movement that favored a
balance between natural beauty and artificial landscaping. Second is the
concept of “convenience,” the idea that the house should reflect the character
of its owner. A term mainly employed in eighteenth-century architectural
writings to describe the appearance of houses, convenience was the concept that
an exterior “should express the purpose of a building and the social status of
its inhabitant” (Varey 156). Pemberley’s tasteful exterior indicates to Elizabeth
(and the reader) that its owner is equally measured, elegant, and handsome.

Convenience (of
the architectural kind) is also evident in Wright’s Pride & Prejudice,
as the sets and décor of Longbourn and Netherfield correspond to the characters
of the people living inside them. Though Longbourn seems a little too
dilapidated to be a gentleman’s home, the marked contrast between the
properties is a readily-grasped indicator of the disparity between the neighbors’
economic and social situations. Netherfield is an excellent extension of
the Bingleys’ fortune: brightly lit to the point of sterility, large
rooms sparsely furnished, and populated by a small army of servants. The
perpetual neatness of the interior suggests an adherence to societal rules and
propriety. Ironically, the décor and furnishings (new, immaculate)
suggest characteristics of the Bingleys evident in the novel but not the film,
namely their new-moneyed status and Miss Bingley’s aims for social advancement.
In contrast, Longbourn suggests that the Bennets are one generation away from
being downwardly mobile. The house is messy, cluttered, and in need of a
new coat of paint. The color palette is noticeably earthier and darker
than Netherfield’s pastels, and we see only three servants (Mr. and Mrs. Hill,
plus the young maid). The state of Longbourn matches the state of the
Bennet family: constantly disheveled, genteel but shabby, and in need of
money. As a property, Longbourn is also strongly associated with agrarian
labor. In addition to the pig that walks through a back corridor, we also
see workers in the yard. The presence of the estate’s workers further
emphasizes Longbourn’s seemingly lower social status.

The difference
between the two households is also conveyed by the way that each space is shot.
Longbourn is a more intimate, spontaneous space. Wright favors unsteady,
hand-held cameras to shoot many scenes in Longbourn, including an early shot of
Lizzie staring through the library window at her parents. The shaky shots
are reminiscent of documentary and cinema verité styles of filmmaking.
There are often quick pans and zooms at Longbourn as the camera seems to search
for the most interesting moment. For instance, after Lizzie rejects Mr.
Collins’s proposal, the door behind a kneeling Mr. Collins bursts open, and the
other Bennet women spill into the room, laughing. The camera quickly pans
up from a kneeling Mr. Collins to the sisters behind him and then pans slightly
to the right and zooms in on Mary Bennet, staring at Collins with a look that
clearly conveys her wounded love for him. The camera movement in
Longbourn is active, itself reflecting the lively character of the Bennet
family.

The fluidity of
the camera movement at Longbourn is replaced with more staid, though still
mobile, camera work at Netherfield. In that setting, Wright favors medium
shots of actors sitting still, forming compositions reminiscent of tableaus (e.g., the Bennet women sinking into a
sofa, Lizzie reading while sitting in the middle of a sofa, Bingley reclining
at the end of the sofa across from her). Setting aside for the moment the
sequences at the ball, Netherfield is generally filmed more statically than
Longbourn is, suggesting the more formal character of its inhabitants and that
the rooms are more interesting than the people in them.

For all its
attention to art direction and the details of set design, though, Pride
& Prejudice is a movie concerned more with how people fill a space,
with how it feels to be within a space, experiencing it in three dimensions.
The “you are there” approach is evident in the film’s large number of tracking
shots, particularly shots where the camera moves through doorways. The
viewer is introduced to the Bennet household via a long tracking shot in which
a camera moves through the back door, down a corridor, into the dining room, and
through one of two front doors to rejoin Lizzie on the front porch. In
the case of Longbourn, the filmmakers of Pride & Prejudice benefit
from filming in a house rather than on a soundstage that lacks a fourth wall.
Not only does the camera show the space, but it shows how it feels to move
through the space. Movement through doors is also evident at Netherfield,
where the camera tracks into the drawing room, showing us the set of double
doors on either side. Later, as servants prepare to close up Netherfield,
the camera tracks backwards out of a room through a set of double doors, which
then magically close themselves.

Tracking through
doors and down corridors creates a space that is tangible and in some cases
even claustrophobic. Longbourn in particular is a social space filled
with noise, laughter and people. There is no peace or quiet in a house of
five daughters, save perhaps in Mr. Bennet’s famous library. The
claustrophobic nature of Longbourn is reinforced by the unsteady camerawork,
including a shot from the point of view of the Bennet sisters as they eavesdrop
on their parents through a crack in the door. Due to its limited square
footage, the interior space of Longbourn offers little privacy; doors are not
soundproof and beds are shared. Longbourn’s sociability is also conveyed
by the often overlapping and sometimes indecipherable dialogue of the Bennet
sisters, such as Kitty and Lydia negotiating to borrow Jane’s dress for the
assembly ball. In the case of Longbourn, sociability means people, noise
and no privacy, ironic for what would usually be considered the most private of
spaces, the home.

Like domestic interiors, public interiors in Pride &
Prejudice offer little privacy but much sociability. The film’s two
ball sequences represent another sense of the social world, the public aspect.
Domestic and public sociability hardly differ. There is as much gossip at
the assembly and Netherfield balls as there is at Longbourn, as much criticism
of neighbors and playing out of courtship rituals (e.g., Mr. Collins). The lack of privacy is even more
acute: though one could conceivably hold a private conversation masked by
the general noise of the room, the larger number of people also increases the
chances of being overheard, much as Lizzie overhears Mr. Darcy insult her at
the assembly ball or Mr. Darcy overhears Mrs. Bennet touting Jane and Bingley’s
advantageous match at Netherfield. Moreover, one’s actions are always
subject to everyone else’s observation. At the assembly ball, Lizzie
notices Jane and Bingley looking at each other. What both balls convey—which
the Longbourn scenes do not—is the physicality and immediacy of being in a
large room with many people. The dancers are sweaty, people fan
themselves and chase after refreshments, hair becomes messy and clothing askew.

The sheer
dizzying effect of the Netherfield ball is best demonstrated by a
tour-de-force, three-minute-long take in which the camera tracks from room to
room, through hallways and a foyer as different characters move in and out of
the frame, finally ending on an overwhelmed Lizzie catching her breath in a
quiet, moonlit hallway. Long takes cede a certain amount of control to
the viewer, who must decide what he or she wants to focus on: “the eye is
free—or rather compelled—to roam where it pleases, like one of the bedazzled
guests” (Winter 83). The roaming eye, analogous to the roaming camera,
finds it impossible to light on only one character, one conversation, one room.
Watching the movement through the social space becomes analogous to moving
through the space itself.

If interior
spaces in Pride & Prejudice are associated with sociability, what of
the exterior spaces? As I have discussed, outdoor spaces in the movie are
used to emphasize Lizzie Bennet’s free spirit and independent thinking.
The shift in meaning from indoors to outdoors is evident when key scenes are
relocated from interior to exterior spaces, or vice versa. Among these scenes is the aftermath of
Lizzie’s rejection of Collins’s proposal. In the novel, Mr. Bennet’s famous “‘unhappy
alternative’” speech (“‘From this day you must be a stranger to one of your
parents.—Your mother will never see you again if you do not marry Mr.
Collins, and I will never see you again if you do’” [112]) occurs in his
library. Throughout the novel, Mr. Bennet’s library is his sanctuary, the
quiet space from which he holds court (e.g.,
it is where Bingley and Darcy meet with him to request his daughters’ hands in
marriage). The library, however, is also his hiding place, a physical
manifestation of his neglectful parenting. In the adaptation, Lizzie
Bennet runs out of doors immediately after the rejection, with Mrs. Bennet
comically chasing after her. Mr. Bennet’s speech occurs beside a lake on
the Longbourn property. The conversation pressuring Lizzie to accept no
longer takes place in her father’s realm but in hers; it is less about his
failures as a parent and more about her status as an independent young woman.
Setting the scene in a space associated with Lizzie’s independence means that
there is never any real doubt about the outcome of the conversation.
However, the impact of Lizzie’s defiance is lessened by being outside, as the
exterior location itself lends her a modicum of power in the film’s spatial
code. Lizzie seems less rebellious by being more at home outdoors.

If Lizzie draws
power from exterior spaces, moving her confrontation with Lady Catherine
indoors seems illogical. Lady Catherine’s arrival in the middle of the
night means that the confrontation cannot possibly take place in the “‘prettyish
kind of a little wilderness’” where it occurs in the novel (352). Sue
Parrill, referring to the 1995 miniseries and the novel, notes Elizabeth’s
advantage in such a location: “Perhaps Lady Catherine should have chosen
a more formal location for her demands, since Elizabeth’s defiance finds an
appropriate setting in this natural environment” (42). Yet
counter-intuitively setting the confrontation indoors renders Elizabeth’s
logical dismantling of Lady Catherine’s argument more striking. By this
point in the story, Elizabeth’s self-knowledge has developed; she knows that
she is in love with Darcy. Her self-knowledge translates to strength of
character, and the fact that she successfully confronts Lady Catherine in an
unnatural, interior space not usually associated with her independence speaks
to her growth and her strength.

The most
significant relocation of a scene from interior to exterior space is Darcy’s
proposal to Elizabeth. While the filmmakers retain Darcy’s first awkward
visit to Hunsford where he attempts to propose before being interrupted, the
second attempt takes place at what appears to be an eighteenth-century
neoclassical temple, though finer details are difficult to discern in the pouring
rain.2 The location of the temple and its place in the film’s
world is unknown. Is it a part of Lady Catherine’s estate at Rosings?
If not, how far is it from Rosings and Hunsford Parsonage? That we cannot
literally place the scene anywhere within the world of the film indicates how
out of place it is. The scene is literally and figuratively set apart
from the rest of the movie.

What are the
effects of the relocation? While the proposal scene retains most of the
novel’s dialogue, its tone is a departure from the formal conversations of the
interior spaces of Netherfield and even Longbourn. The outdoor setting,
the dramatic music, the pouring rain and the near kiss are more keeping with a
small-r romanticism that becomes increasingly evident in the film, a shift
which has been noted by numerous reviewers (Lane, Lacey, McBride). The
proposal exemplifies the change in the film’s tone and use of space that occurs
once Lizzie arrives at Hunsford. Spaces are shot less fluidly as the
conventions of the romance plot take over: “As it builds in melodramatic
momentum, however, the film relies more and more on close-ups and the
conventional rhythms of shot and reverse-shot” (Winter 83). Gone are the
long takes and tracking shots of the sociable spaces; the social world has been
left behind for the space of the romance plot and conventional film grammar.

Much is lost
with the removal from the social world. The proposal scene itself is
intensely performed, and handheld cameras are still used to convey intimacy and
urgency. Yet setting such an emotionally intense scene, and one of the
main turning points of the novel, outdoors is parallel to relocating the “‘unhappy
alternative’” scene: the setting leaves no doubt about the emotional
nature of the conversation. Austen’s interiors stand for more than just
the social world; they also stand for social constraints. Austen heroes
and heroines struggle to convey their deepest feelings through the minutest of
gestures. Any confession of feelings renders a person vulnerable.
The lack of privacy in interior spaces is the reason Darcy leaves abruptly
after his first abortive attempt at Hunsford, demonstrating that exterior
spaces are ironically more private than interiors. However, interior
spaces reify the social constraints that all Austen characters operate under.
Even in the film adaptation, Lizzie rejects Darcy’s proposal for social
reasons: he separated Bingley and Jane, “exposing [his] friend to the
censure of the world for caprice and [her] sister to its derision for
disappointed hopes,” refused to help Mr. Wickham advance in the world, and
behaved in an un-gentlemanlike manner. Standing as a reminder of the
social world during the proposal scene in the novel, Hunsford is a multivalent
space, a nexus of motives for marriage. Hunsford parsonage is a site of
dependence, as Lady Catherine can dispose of it at her will. It is a site
of Charlotte’s independence from spinsterhood achieved though her own “advantageous” marriage, her opportunity to have her own much-desired establishment
(122). It is also a place where Mr. Collins can subtly show his cousin
what she has lost by rejecting his proposal. In fact, it is heavily
ironic that Elizabeth is proposed to in the home of a man whose proposal she
rejected. Overall, Hunsford represents an opportunity that Elizabeth
deems insufficient, a quality that can also be applied to Darcy’s proposal.

Setting the
proposal outside in a neoclassical temple removes all the earthbound concerns
associated with Hunsford, the rich ironies and the social satire.
Entering a romantic space entails leaving behind social space. In the movie,
romantic space is about the individuals—individual lovers, specifically—who
rise above the world. The otherworldly aspect of Lizzie and Darcy’s love
affair is reaffirmed by their reconciliation by sunrise. As she walks
through a field, Lizzie spies Darcy striding towards her, emerging from the
mist. As they reconcile and almost kiss, the shot is framed so that the
sun appears behind them, shining through as if ordained by the heavens (or the
director?) to do so. The final scene of the North American release, in
which Darcy and Lizzie kiss repeatedly at Pemberley, is another instance of the
fairy-tale nature of the film’s latter half. From the establishing shot
of Pemberley with four swans in the reflecting pool to the ridiculous sight of
Darcy and Lizzie in their bedclothes on the balcony (one wonders if all the
servants had the night off?), the final scene is a significant departure from
the grounded representations of the social world that comprised the film’s
earlier moments. It is pure romance as the camera tracks forward not
through a space, but towards the lovers, culminating in that most romantic of
gestures—a kiss.

Spaces in films
and novels are often imbued with meaning, suggesting readings that correspond
to or deviate from the narrative. The 2005 film adaptation of Jane
Austen’s Pride and Prejudice takes pleasure in representing interior
spaces, specifically by using long tracking shots to create the illusion of
moving through a three dimensional space. The interior spaces pulse with
energy but yield to a more conventional romance narrative and therefore more
conventionally shot spaces, particularly exteriors. By the movie’s end,
melodramatic representations of romantic space are a far remove from the keenly
observed social world that characterizes Jane Austen’s work. By turning
its focus to romance and the creation of romantic spaces, Pride &
Prejudice (2005) embraces grand exteriors at the expense of social
interiors, ignoring the old maxim that it’s what’s inside that counts.

NOTES

1.To be consistent
with the practice of Pride &
Prejudice (2005) and its reviewers, I refer to the character played by
Keira Knightley as “Lizzie.” “Elizabeth” denotes the character in
Austen’s novel and in other adaptations. While Austen spells Elizabeth's nickname "Lizzy," I defer to the DVD's
subtitles and the film's reviewers in the spelling "Lizzie."

2.In the director’s
commentary on the DVD, Joe Wright indicates that the proposal was filmed at the
Stourhead estate, and that it was the only scene filmed at that location.The specific building is the Apollo’s Temple
at Stourhead.The location is at least
appropriate for the novel’s time period; Stourhead’s gardens were opened to the
public in the 1740s (Troost 481).